Live for me
by Hell789abdv
Summary: Companion pieces to various parts of Breathe for me. All Brendan's POV. Not in order.
1. Section 7

Right then... If you haven't read Breathe for me, especially section 7 this will make absolutely no sense what-so-ever. It's basically a companion piece. I've left out a lot of things that I could have written relating to the other sections of that story, a lot of things that I could have nodded to or explained but I chose not to, it's very deliberate.

Chapters 89 to 95.

Brendan's POV.

.

* * *

The grog of the flu that had settled in since his trip to Ireland that wouldn't lift. He hates being ill. Refuses to be ill only his body betrays him and he has to admit if only to himself that this isn't a mental exercise. Mental strength will not make it go away but he keeps trying.

"Do you want a lift?" He asks trying to suppress the cough that's threatening to give him away.

"No stay in bed. I need you to warm it up for me." Steven says, all light, he knows the manipulation. Making it sound like he's doing Steven the favour but he doesn't mind.

"Sure? Once I'm in I'm not getting back up to come and get you." Going out in that… It's an idle threat. If he needed him to he would.

"I'm sure. Won't be long."

"Dad on his way?" Lucas asks still looking at the TV.

"You know the drill."

"Fifteen minuets." Lucas replies grabbing the remote and checking how much long the film has to play. "Finishes in twenty?"

"Roads will be bad we can push it." He states. He doubts that Steven will catch them out given the weather.

As soon as the credits roll Lucas heaves himself.

"Preferred the first one." Lucas stretches. "Those girls burning to death in the sun beds to Red hot Chilli peppers was good though."

"You have nightmares…"

"I don't get nightmares from films, they're fictional." Lucas states. There's so much of Steven in him. Sharp tongue and a combination of shyness and confidence, different balance to Steven. Lucas is far more uncertain in strange company, he doesn't fake confidence as well as Steven had learnt to, but he gets to know someone and he's off, the confidence comes to the surface. He's far more competitive… There's a lot of Amy too. Calculating eyes and too much intelligence for a young lad.

"Night."

He said he'd be in bed when Steven got back… He switches off all the plugs, makes sure that the back door's locked, leaves the front. Steven will be freezing by the time he gets in he doesn't want him having to unlock the door.

He intends to be awake when he gets back, even making himself comfortable and pulling the quilt a little higher on his chest, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he managed to pull this off. Get Steven back after everything. Share a house. Become a family. Even get him softened on Cheryl, although that was going to take more work. He wants them to be friends the way they had been before… It's always split. Before, during and after. Before when he had made promises that he had every intention of keeping, somehow, someway he was going to be good enough… Enduring prison… Getting out… Getting so much wrong and still somehow managing to get this…

He closes his eyes and waits to hear the door. It groans slightly. He should oil the hinges but he likes it. Hearing the door go.

An hour… The roads are bad. Maybe the taxi had gotten stuck. He reaches for his phone on the side and sends a quick text asking Steven if he's alright. He gives it a couple of minuets. Steven's in a taxi and his phone will be either in his pocket or on his lap. No reply. He rings instead with a growing knot that this isn't right. Straight to voice mail. Phone switched off. There's that off feeling that he knows so well, that grinds in his guts most of the time. Something's wrong… An accident or something… Maybe he's hurt… He tries to get a grip on his thoughts as they spiral. Turn to darkness that keeps getting darker… He rings again. Voice mail. Again, voice mail.

"Ring me back."

An hour and a half. Steven's never this late, not without ringing. He knows he's finished his shift, it's not the kitchen, he's not stuck at work. He was he'd have text him.

He gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of jogging pants and heading downstairs. He knows he hadn't come in, he hadn't heard the door but maybe he had and he was pottering about. He can't hear him. He knows it's not true but he still needs to check. Make sure.

It's as dark and silent as he had left it.

"Come on Steven." He growls.

He jumps at the banging on the door.

"Ronnie's got them, both of them."

She's not joking. She wouldn't joke about something like this. She wouldn't be banging on the door at this time of night for kicks.

"Where?" He knows where he can get him back before Ronnie… He has to get him back.

"I don't know…" He doesn't want to hear that she doesn't know. She knows. She knows everything about Ronnie, she'd made it her personal job since Fred had been killed. Finances, properties, friends, every man that worked for him, every dealer, every supplier.

"Where?!"

"Brendan?" He freezes at Lucas' voice. "What's happening?"

"Nothing go back to bed."

"But… Where's Dad?"

He squeezes his eyes tight shut and swallows before he turns.

"Where is he? He's alright isn't he?"

"We can't get a hold of him." Laura cuts in.

He glares at her. Lucas doesn't need to know anything because Steven will be right back with him by morning. He'll make it happen.

"He's not an idiot." She replies low and tight. "We're going to ask Tony to stay here while we go look for him alright?"

"I want to come."

"No." He snaps, instantly regretting it.

"It's late and it's cold. Your Dad would have a conniption if we took you out there."

"But…"

"His taxi properly broke down, we're just going to get him. You stay here and you can tell him where we are if he gets back before us." She offers Lucas a smile and presses her phone to her ear.

"Tony… I know. I know and I'm sorry it's so late but I need a monumental favour, I need you to come to Ste's house and stay with Lucas… I'm explain when you get here." She offers a small smile towards Lucas. "Why don't you get your dressing gown hum? It's not that warm down here."

Lucas looks unsure but goes back upstairs.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know yet. I'm waiting on Morris."

"Morris? Dave Morris?"

"One and the same. He's still in with Ronnie and he's Rory's connection."

"You trust him? He was going to rape you."

"I trust that he knows what will happen to him if Rory takes his protection off, which he knows I can do. It's the only reason I have castrated him so far."

"Your halo's fallen in the mud."

"If I ever had one it was stamped on years ago." She replies sharply.

Lucas comes back down switching the TV on and whining his hands in the tie from his dressing gown. The way Steven twists his hoodie sleeves… Where the fuck is Tony? He can't leave Lucas alone and he can't go without Ellington. Every bridge he had with the Barnet's burned when Dean stuck that scalpel in his throat.

Tony arrives looking flushed, Ellington wastes no time taking him outside. He doesn't know what she's going to say to him, he doesn't care as long as he'll look after Lucas.

He runs upstairs and gets dressed. Jeans, shirt, jumper, boots. He doesn't know where they're going but he knows he needs to be prepared. He sends a text to Barry to have a gun waiting for him at the end of the street within five minutes. No excuses.

He gives the house, Lucas on last look. The things he has to protect and buries them deep inside of him. He has to get Steven back.

"You get him back." Tony states to him as he passes to follow Ellington out.

"I will." Or he'll die trying.

The four by four isn't her's, black, new.

"I'm driving." He states before she can even think about it.

"We're no good to them dead." She replies walking around the front quickly and dropping into the passenger seat.

He pulls away, pulling back in at the end of the street waiting for Barry with impatience. She doesn't ask too busy on her phone.

"I'm calling in a favour… You and anyone else that owes me. Ronnie Barnet took someone I want back." She barely ends the call before she's onto another one.

Come on Barry for fucks sake.

"Awaiting details but as soon as I know."

He gets out as soon as he sees the rust bucket of a car round the corner.

"On tick." He states pushing the gun into his waist band. "Square up later."

He kicks the snow as he gets back into the car.

"Where?"

"Don't know yet."

"That's not fucking…"

"You're going to have to be fucking patient."

"Ronnie could…" Steven could be dead already.

"I know." She snaps. "I know, I really fucking do… I need you to be less bull in a china shop. I will get the information."

"When?"

"When I get it."

"Where to?"

"He's not going to use anywhere around here. He knows we know all of his safe houses, every property he owns… He's planned this. He's got it all set up…" Her phone vibrates. "North Wales."

"Wales?"

"That's where they're heading."

Driving slowly grates on his nerves. The back end steps out too much to risk going much faster. He's pushing the very limit of the grip available on the snow. His knuckles are almost the same colour as the roads the death grip he has on the steering wheel hurts, hurts in a way he can control. The only thing he can control. The car and pain. The rest is slipping from his grasp like handfuls of sand.

He can't lose him now. Not now. Not when he's nearly got him back.

Hours and hours of driving with no destination. Faceless towns, soulless petrol stations and a white blanket over all the landmarks. Some would say beautiful, those people who had time to think like that. He can't admire it, he hasn't got mind to. He has one focus, one thing he has to do.

"Clocaenog forest." Ellington states. "A farm somewhere around there." She punches it into the SAT nav then she's back on the phone again. He tunes her out as she makes calls tunes her out so hard that he barely notices his phone vibrating him his back pocket. He tries to pull it out, struggling against the seat belt. The call ends before he can reach it.

"Bren, listen Barnet hasn't got me, I escaped right. He hasn't got me. Whatever he's said, he hasn't got me. Don't do anything… I'm alright."

He closes his eyes with the relief that flows throw his veins. Ronnie hasn't got him. He hasn't killed him. Steven's alive.

He calls the number… It rings out. He calls again, switched off. Fucking hell Steven… What is he playing at?

He passes the phone over.

"Listen."

"Well at least that's one of them."

He couldn't give a fuck about Taylor.

"Different problem. Pull over." She states.

"What?"

"He's not where Morris is and if he's escaped then he could be anywhere… Where would he go? Where would you go?"

He looks around him. There's not much here. It's cold. It's fucking freezing and he's out there in it.

"He got a phone." He's stolen a phone from someone. There aren't many people around so he had gone to another farm or chatted up a farmer to borrow it.

"Morris is in one of these two farms. So if I was him I'd want to be as far from there as possible."

"Forrest offers cover." Steven's not stupid. He wouldn't be walking around the roads. He would need to hide.

"Get turned around easily though."

All the trees would look the same. No landmarks to go on. Steven could be going in circles, getting lost. Better lost than dead.

Missed call flashes up. Shit he'd missed him. Must have been when Ellington had been listening.

"Answer your fucking phone." Panic in his voice. Something had changed.

He tries to call him back. No signal on the phone Steven's on.

"We need to find him right now." He pulls out back onto the road. He doesn't know where he's going but anything is better than being sat doing nothing.

"Signal's dropping in and out." She comments.

Remote place like this, he's surprised there is signal.

He keeps half an eye on the road and half an eye on his phone. No service. Emergancy service. Three bars. Maybe this time.

"Hello?"

"Steven?! Are you okay? Where are you? Has Ronnie…"

"Bren. I'm fine." He doesn't sound it. "We're heading to Bala."

"We're not far away." A couple of miles in the other direction according to the sat nav.

"How'd did you know where…"

"Laura's got one of Ronnie's men on side. He called her."

"Listen Bren Callum…"

The signal drops out on Steven's end.

"He's in a car and he's heading to Bala." He U turns quickly making sure that the snow doesn't get too deep in the gateway. Last thing he needs is getting stuck.

He puts the phone on redial hoping that the signal will come back in. He needs to know where in Bala. Even if he gets Steven back Ronnie's getting a hole in him today. No more fucking about keeping his hands clean, letting Ellington do it properly, getting it secured, making sure there's no come back. Ronnie had crossed the line taking Steven and he was going to die for it.

The phone rings. There's signal but no answer, no voice mail either. It's just ringing out. Redial.

"Brendan." The sound of Rick's voice makes his blood run cold. "Long time no see."

"You touch one hair on his head and I will garrotte you with your own intestines."

"Yes well I'm sure you'll give it a go but unfortunately I don't think that's what's going to happen."

"It's going to happen." Whether he touches Steven or not. Rick's a dead man walking.

"My Dad wants to settle the score."

He throws the phone against the windscreen so hard to cracks the glass, pulls the car over into the side, gets out and slams his fist into the bonnet.

"Half an hour and Sachin will be with us."

He laughs. Half an hour in Ronnie's company there'll be nothing left.

Her phone rings. He hears that tune one more time and he'll snap the thing clean in two.

"You're sure? No. I mean are you one hundred and fifty percent sure? If you're saying this… You are that fucking petty… Who? Talk me through it…"

He steps around the door and closer to here. Whoever she has on the phone. Her face is paling, dropping.

"I find out you're lying Rory and I swear… Where did you get that from?... I'll speak to you later." She buries her head in her hands.

"What was that?"

"The police contact says that Anderson and an armed response unit are heading to a farm. High Seat. That's the location Alex Turner gave them. He's been on the run with Ste. He's just called in, that's where Ste is."

"From here where?"

"We need to wait."

"Fuck waiting." He's not leaving Steven in there even a second longer than he has to.

"You going to storm in all gun blazing? Get a fucking grip. There's at least eight of them…"

"I don't give a fuck."

"Think. You go in alone and you're giving Ronnie exactly what he wants. And that fucker's had too much from us already."

What does it matter what else Ronnie's had from him? He doesn't get this. Not Steven. He can have anything but him.

"Twenty minutes. We're barely ahead of Anderson. Fancy another stint at her majesties pleasure do you?"

Right now he couldn't give a shit. He needs him back the rest is just… The rest doesn't matter.

"Ste would kill me."

"If he's still alive." The words choke him.

"He's out living both of us."

It's a promise.

"Brendan." Rage explodes in his chest at the sound of Ronnie's voice.

"I'm going to rip your heart out!"

"Now, now Brendan that's no way to talk to me. I have Steven with me he's in a rather nasty predicament."

"Every bone in your body I'll break them, one by one…"

"Here's how this is going to go. You can save him."

"You think I believe that?"

"No Brendan. You can save him all you have to do is find him before he bleeds to death."

"He's bleeding him." He's bleeding Steven.

"Five minutes."

He moves the release the handbrake but she gets there first.

"Five minuets. Ronnie putting his foot on your jugular… It's a trap. You know it I know it and Ronnie thinks he's playing you. He wants stupid. You're not stupid. This was anyone else you'd…"

"It's not anyone else."

"Ronnie kills you the second you get out of the car what chance does Ste have? He's going to kill you, him and me."

"What about Taylor?"

"Taylor's flipped."

"He's switched?" If she wasn't a woman he'd have her by the neck.

"I don't know. I don't know what the fuck is going on with him... Ronnie needs taking out he's who I'm focusing on. Taylor… I'll sort him out later."

"If I catch him in the cross fire?" He's played any part in this and he's dying.

"He gets caught in the cross fire."

Two cars pull in hard behind them. He would have gone without them but now they're here… The more people the better.

He sits in the car while she talks to Sachin and his merry band of psychopaths. Killers every one of them. He knows them. They're loyal to her, her Dad. Know what they're doing.

"Morris and a couple of others have left. Cut in numbers. Rick, Ronnie, Jez, and Fisk. Ste's downstairs. Sachin is going to drive straight up the road make them concentrate on the front. Pull in before they stop and go around the back."

Sachin and the other car pull out, rounding them. He pulls out and follows them.

"You're staying in the car." He states as they round the corner.

"You use that gun, you wipe it and you chuck it, you understand me. Anderson's right behind us."

The snows deep under his boots, makes his muscle strain as he runs around. The clack, clack of gun fire echoing around.

House on the end. The door's locked, he elbows the glass panel to break it and reaches through to unlock it.

"Steven!"

"Brendan." Faint. Where?

"Steven!"

He kicks door open, he's there. He runs to him. Gun's deafening in the small space.

He drops to his knees in front of him.

"You okay?" He touches his neck, his face, the bruises, the cut on his lip, eyes searching over his face. It's all superficial. It's got to be. He's alive and he's… He's alive and that's all that matters.

"Okay?"

Steven gives a nod, he doesn't look okay. He looks horrendous but even beaten and bloody… He unties the ropes. The guns are still firing. He needs to get him out of here. He pulls him up trying to be gentle, and Steven's knee's buckle, like a puppet with his strings cut, he grips his waist, he needs to keep him up. They've got to get out of here. Steven tries to get his hands off him and he knows there's something more, something wrong that he can't see.

"I've got you, I've got you." He moves his hands onto his hips.

"No." He turns towards Ronnie. His guns on the ground. Taylor's moving towards them.

He moves to get the gun and Ronnie's going to shoot. He doesn't he could anyway. He reaches for it at the same time Taylor takes it, rising up and firing.

Two shots. There were two shots. Ronnie fired.

"Is he dead?!" He shouts at Taylor. He has to be sure. "Where?" Where did Ronnie's shot go?

He hears the thud behind him, the sickening crack of limbs on wood. And he knows. Knows then exactly where it went.

No.

"Kill him." He barks at Taylor. Kill him. Shut him up. Laughing.

How bad? He turns. Steven's on the floor. Bleeding. Fresh blood mixing with the stains already on the floor.

He drops to his knee and searches for the entry point. Chest wound. Bleeding all over. He presses his hand against it trying to keep the blood in, so much of it. Pouring out of him. He can't afford to lose any of it. Not that he should be bleeding in the first place…

"Brendan." He sounds tiny, desperate, pain laced gasp.

"You're fine, you're fine… You're okay."

He presses his hand harder into the wound, got to stop the bleeding.

"You're okay. You're fine." He's not by any stretch of the imagination. He's paling by the second.

"Steven… Steven look at me. Just look at me okay. You're going to be fine…"

"I'm not."

His breath sticks in his throat.

"No, but you're going to be." He has to be. "You're going to be fine."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry Brendan."

No. This isn't goodbye. He's not dying here.

"Do something for me." Every breath he's struggling. "I want you to look out for the kids…"

"Shut up Steven for once in your life just shut up." He's not dying here.

"Promise me. Promise me Brendan."

He has no choice but to agree. Give him what he wants because he can have anything, everything he wants from him.

"Kiss me."

He ignores the taste of blood, captures his bottom lip gently.

"I love you."

He can't say it. Not like this. Not when it means goodbye. He kisses him again hoping that he knows what he means. Steven struggles again.

"I need help in here!" Someone. Someone fucking please.

"Open your eyes. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me." Sheer force of will is never going to be enough to fight the tide. He can't keep him here.

"No, no, no… No Steven!" Stay awake. Stay here. Stay…"Good lad, just keep your eyes open. You're not… You're going to be fine."

Steven shakes his head, gurgles and thrashes weakly against him. Every breath seems to be taken through water. He can hear it.

"Breathe for me Steven. That's all you've got to do. Just keep breathing."

He doesn't take his eyes off him, he's still breathing, faint. He stares down on him. Can't take his eyes away from his face.

"What's his name?" A woman asks pushing his hands away.

"We need room." A man pushes him away, he fights against his hands. He's not leaving him.

"His name?"

"Steven."

Their hands are all over him, he wants to break them for even touching him. Lying there barely alive and he can't help. He doesn't know how.

"Steven. Steven can you hear me?"

"No response."

"Clear the way. Get this set up." Another man comes in, another bag and he's being pushed further and further away from him. His hand. The only place they don't seem to need. He takes it in his and prays. Not him. Please don't take him. Not now. Not ever.

"Pulse extremely weak and thready."

"He's going to crash."

Come on Steven…

"Squeeze the blood in. We need volume…"

"Lost his pulse."

"Sir you need to move back." He pushes the hands off him. "We're trying to help him but you've got to give us space."

He's like a rag doll. There's no tone to his muscles. He rises as the shock goes through him and thuds back into the floor.

"Stopped breathing."

Please… Please Steven.

"Get him out of here."

He struggles against the hands on him, pushing him, dragging him away, he fights against them. He needs to be with him. If this is it he needs to be here.

"He's not holding a rhythm."

He fights against them, throws punches anything everything to get back to him, but there's too many of them and he's losing the battle, they're taking him away from him. It might be the last time he ever sees him and he can't get to him.

The van door slam shut and he kicks against them, punches them, they're not going to give.

He sits against the side, head in hands.

He's lost him…

He strips out of his clothes and into the white suit because they make him. He sits in the interview room because they make him. Sits there and stares a hole in the wall.

"Mr Brady I'm Irina Collins I'm your solicitor."

He didn't call one. He doesn't need one.

"I would like a moment alone with my client."

"He's too dange…"

"I want a moment alone with my client, you don't give me that and I'll make sure not even your great grandchildren can work in law enforcement." There's a shuffling as the officers leave.

She drops a piece of paper on the desk in front of him.

"Read it."

He looks at her. Older woman with steel in her eyes. His lip twitches.

"I was told you would want to know."

He unfolds his arms and opens the paper.

Ste's in surgery.

"Get me out of here."

He stretches as he gets outside into the cold night, wind whipping snow, cold enough to chill his bones. His clothes taken for evidence, he had to accept the t-shirt and jogging bottoms from lost property.

"Mr Brady. Your car." Henry. One of Mr Arthur's runners. "You are requested in Birmingham. Queen Elizabeth's hospital."

He takes the keys and drops behind the wheel, the street lights flashing past over him. He won't let himself think until he knows one way or the other.

That message had been hours ago. He could be dead. He could be driving to find him laid out on a slab.

Amy slaps him. Strides up and slaps him hard enough his jaw clicks.

"This was you." She screams at him enough to alert security.

He walks away before she can land herself in trouble. It's the last thing she needs. He let's the double doors close behind him and leans against the banister.

He didn't think he'd make it here. He thought he was already gone. On that floor Steven had given up. Made him make promises about his children. He'd given up on himself.

All there is to do is sit, wait and avoid Amy. He deserves everything she can throw at him but he doesn't want to upset her further. She's got enough to deal with.

Lucas drops down beside him quietly, draws his legs up. He looks up and along the corridor to see Ellington talking to Amy.

"Is he going to die?" He barely hears him. He speaks into his knees.

"He'll make it." Even if he doesn't believe it. Steven stubborn but he doesn't think that's going to matter. The state he was in…

Lucas looks at him with so much hope he wants to take the words straight back but what else was he meant to say?

After a while Lucas starts to shuffle, drops his head onto his knees, lies it back, then gives up and lies out on the row of chairs, using his elbow for a cushion.

"Excuse me." His voice catches in his throat from lack of use. "Can I get a blanket?"

"Course." The woman offers a small smile. When she returns handing him the blanket he throws it over Lucas and tuck it around him.

"Thanks." Lucas mutters. He knew he wasn't asleep. He was too still.

He lets his head rest back against the window ledge behind him. People, nurses, doctors pass and he pays then no mind. He hears the clack of heels and opens his eyes.

"He's in ICU." Amy says quietly mindful of Lucas. "We can see him." He raises an eyebrow at her. "He would want you with him, whatever I think about that."

So many tubes, wires, monitors and Steven in the middle of it. A nurse at the end of the bed stationed, writing, watching the monitors.

"It's very intimidating all this but most of this stuff is just so we know what's going on, the stuff we can't see. My name's Gavin. Don't touch anything."

He wasn't planning on it. He looks like even the slightest touch could finish him.

Oh Jesus Steven… His chest is a mess, between a dressing that's over what he knows is the gunshot wound there's deep almost black bruising marring his skin.

"The ventilator is to help him out, give his lungs a rest. It'll be out in a couple of days, that is if he makes it through the night." He gives Gavin a sharp look. Blunt but not uncaring. Straight talker. He supposes with a job like this he needs to be. No sugar coating anything. "He's a very poorly young man."

Amy's breath hitches and he sees her lip wobble before she clears her throat and straightens up. Always a tough woman Amy.

"I don't want Lucas seeing him like this. I'll take him to a hotel. Give me your number." She pushes her phone into his hand and types the number in with barely a brief glance from the bed. "Anything and you let me know."

The door shuts behind him and he still can't move.

It becomes a whirl of doctors and nurses, Gavin then Nora then Ishant one after the other all of them watching Steven coming in, going out, coming back. He gets kicked out, he comes back.

It's the only way to know the time. Who's on shift tells him all he needs to know. The rise and fall of Steven's chest is all he sees, the steady rhythm of his heart beat are all he listens to.

He doesn't like leaving him but sometimes he has to, when the walls of the room close in on him and the noises around him get into his brain, white noise and painful.

"He's a fighter I'll give him that." Gavin states. "Breathing on his own."

All the little steps that add up to him being moved from critical to critical stable and away from having ten minuet observations, a move in room down the corridor. Less tubes, the same sounds.

"You look like shit." Ellington states handing him a coffee. She explains what happened, the deal she cut, he doesn't even feign interest. "My Dad and Mr Arthur wanted Taylor in a cat A, I gave them it."

"You know what happens now."

"Yeah, I know… Anderson's dropping your charges."

"You want me to thank you?"

"No. I want you to go and get changed." She drops a bag of clothes on his lap.

The doctors discuss everything with Amy, she's his next of kin, then she tells him.

"They're taking him off sedation they think he's ready." Amy states. "I need to go and pick Leah up she's threatening to get the train down on her own if I don't. Lucas wants to stay here."

There's a hotel room booked for him but he's not leaving.

"What's he look like?"

He looks up from his hands. The things they have done, the damage they've caused.

"He's not like… The…"

"He looks like your Dad, there's wires around him a few tubes but otherwise he looks like he's asleep."

"So there's not like blood?"

"No." He regrets ever letting him watch horror films or medical drama's.

"Can you see the hole?"

"Hole?"

"Where the bullet went in?"

"No. There's a dressing on it. It's all sewn up underneath."

"Will…" Lucas dips his head.

"What?"

"Can I see him?"

"Lucas your Ma…"

"I want to see him. Please." He swears the puppy dog eyes are straight from Steven. Looking like that at him…

He doesn't want to go against Amy but at the same time Lucas has obviously got all sorts running through his head. He takes him to the door and opens the door enough that Lucas can see the bed but doesn't take him in.

"Can I stay here with you tonight?"

"It's not comfortable." He's meant to be taking him to the hotel.

"I don't want him to be alone."

"There's nurses around all the time."

"It's not the same."

He talks Kate into letting Lucas sleep in the relative's room down the hall. He gets up at various stages during the night to check on him. Make sure he's alright.

Leah practically launches herself into him when he takes Lucas down to meet with Amy, she sobs into his neck while Amy looks on unamused.

"He's going to die." She states and Lucas rolls his eyes upwards.

"Drama queen." Lucas mutters, Amy gives him a glare. Well she is. Lucas mouths but doesn't say it.

"Where is he? Can I see him?"

"I'll take you up." Amy states. "You two eat something."

He gives Lucas a fiver from his wallet and he comes back to the table with a bowl of chips.

"Princess Leah, always the centre of attention." Lucas gripes while covering the chips in Salt and tomato sauce. "And she gets to see him first how is that fair?"

He sighs and takes a chip if only to encourage him to eat to. His appetite has been missing for days.

"She doesn't even come down and see him or us. Too busy partying."

"Lucas." He presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose.

"All she has to do is cry and she gets what she wants."

"Lucas."

"That's all girls ever do. I accidently knocked Jenny over at school the other day and she goes crying to Mrs Birch. I apologised to her and she still had the water works going on. Making it look like I did it on purpose and I never… Girls are so weird."

He can't help smile a little at him.

"Can we go and get pizza instead? These are crap." Lucas states pushes the bowl towards him.

He breathes in the fresh air in, lets it fill his chest, it's refreshing after days of the too warm of the hospital. Lucas bounces around full of energy, making jokes, he notices every time he smiles at him Lucas steps it up a gear tries to make him laugh.

They share a meat feast, although he'll admit he ate most of it.

Lucas drags him to a sports shop to look at some new boots.

"Christmas is just around the corner. You can tell Dad I want them."

If he wakes up…

Lucas refuses to go back to the hotel almost drops him straight in it about not being there the night before but saves it. Amy's too tired to put up a fight.

"Can I touch him?"

"Mind the wires."

"I'm not an idiot… Can he hear me? Mum said that he might be able to now they've taken him off sedation… Do you talk to him?" He shakes his head. "Why not?"

Because he only wants to talk to him when he's awake and looking at him.

"I like it when he talks back."

"Dad. I'm here and Brendan's here even if he won't talk to you. This is dead weird… Mum and Leah came down yesterday they've gone back to the hotel for the night but I know you don't like me staying up late but Brendan stays here and I wanted to keep him company, which is stupid really cos well you're here…" Lucas inhales sharply.

"Hey, it's okay."

"What if he doesn't wake up? What happens then?"

Then… Then nothing. But Lucas is looking at him with Steven's eyes and he can't break his heart the way he did his Dad's.

"He'll wake up."

"How do you know though?"

He thinks of everything that the doctor's said about Steven not making it and every time he had made it.

He's fighting the way he always fights, with everything on the line and nothing to fall back on.

"Because your Dad is the strongest person I've ever known."

"But."

"When the doctors said that he might not make it through the night he did, and when they said that the surgery might kill him he kept fighting, he's too stubborn to give up now. He's going to wake up Lucas we've just got to wait."

As he says it he starts to believe it. He's made it this far Steven's not the kind to give up now.

"How long though?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"I don't know."

"But."

"Have faith... Have faith in him."

"Like you do?"

"Yeah."

Like he should have done all along.


	2. Prison

Thanks for reviewing.

Guest - I'm not sure about doing Ireland from Brendan's POV, I'll have to have a long think about how I'd want to do it.

I've decided to keep all these in one place as one fic even though they won't be in order. Case and point right here. I was thinking of ways to write the prison section of Brendan's journey and this kind of hit me as how I wanted to do it, it's a bit of a different style than I usually write in and might be a bit confusing in places.

It's dark and pretty disturbing.

Covers Brendan in prison, meeting Dean, getting released, starting to work for Mr Arthur and his conversation with Jamie.

Brendan POV

* * *

He died, this is his body existing.

No counting days, he's here until he's not. He doesn't need to know more than that.

"Mr Brady you are only convicted for the death of Mr Seamus Brady, good behaviour you could be out in less than ten years."

Less than ten years. That hard faced bastard didn't know what ten years was other than a big fat pay day.

"This really is the best result we could have hoped for."

We? We. Because he paid him it was we. Because he had been set the challenge of getting a guilty man off charges because he was a coward and couldn't face thirty years.

Death was what he wanted, a death is what he got only it wasn't at the end of a snipers bullet, it wasn't a blaze of glory, it was the clank of a prison door.

Die or be killed. Have peace or be tormented.

When God heard his confession he must have thought him short of suffering. Only God didn't exist to dead men walking. He offered no hope, no chance for transformation, no salvation, only breath.

One look at the handwriting he knew who it was and he sent it back. Dead men don't need to haunt the living. Dead men need no reminders of life outside their coffin. To lift a nail and glimpse life that was torment. To see beyond the concrete and live in colour only for that colour to fade and those glimpses dissolve to nothing as the living forgot the dead that was true plague.

He is dead until he is alive.

The rats crawl around, make their deals with the tigers for another day at their grace. Free to scuttle around until the big cat's draw their claws.

He's neither tiger nor rat. He is dead and as a dead man he takes no sides, only keeps his grave to rest in. The concrete replacing wood, the bar replacing nails.

He looks out the window until sunlight burns his eyes and he stops looking.

He is a dead man who dreams only because he can't stop it, can't make it stop. The buzzing inside his head, the titter in his ear, the devil on his shoulder that reminds him that this is not a coffin and he is not dead. That there's life outside and it, it still moves without him.

The living move on from the dead. The living have to. There can be no stone around their neck, no burden, he will make himself dead to them so they can have their lives.

Live, breathe and bask in the sunlight where they belong, where he no longer does.

But that nagging whisper, that voice that belongs to a name he refuses to say, refuses to think only his heart remembers and it's a stronger force that calls it in the dead of night when the pangs won't realise their grip and he is forced to see them.

Dead men don't dream, don't have nightmares or terrors to contend with. They have peace, he's not dead.

There are wolves, meant to keep tigers and rats at peace. Divide and rule with a pack mentality. Like any pack there is weakness, those who want to prove their worth and those that were born tiger only to repent their claws but keep their teeth. Some that prey, some that feed and some that want the rats and tigers to join them.

"His name is Dr Gayle and he would like to speak to you."

He is neither wolf, nor tiger, nor rat. He is a dead man and dead men don't speak. They hold their secrets to their chest and keep them buried with them in their casket. He is not prey, not any longer. The constrictor is dead. He no longer twists his mind nor holds sway. The snake is dead, no more whiskey stained breath nor gravelled tongue and he's charring, blistering, screaming on the coals of Hell.

When the living no longer seek out the dead, there is pain so deep that it runs through bone, so staggering it cuts with a ragged dull edge at his insides and won't relent.

The living no longer seek the dead.

Ask and you shall receive.

The living are forgetting, healing as those that are do, those with blood in their veins instead of ice, those with warmth, he's getting everything that he had wanted for them and he's a dead man in a concrete coffin of agony.

The dead should feel no pain.

The wolves circle, growling at him, barking, baring their teeth.

"We are here to help you, your welfare is our priority."

His is a dead man, he dug his own grave with his bare hands, scrapped the ground, got soil under his nails and bled to have it deep enough only to climb in without means to finish the job.

The grind of metal, the clink of keys, the never ending noise of those tigers preying on rats, rats daring above their station and paying the price for not knowing their place in crimson tides and torn skin, cut off tails and bitten ears.

"We're giving you a cell mate."

Rat or tiger. Mouse.

Wears the skin of a rat but the tigers have had their way. Turned to snakes and sank their fangs in, pumped it with poison, taken hold and are squeezing their grip. The mouse has given in to the snakes, will take no more.

Dangles from the bars as though swinging in the wind only their no wind in this grave and the snakes can't have him, not when he had been that mouse once and knows that snakes have slithered back to their trees and are setting their next ambush, unaffected and unashamed.

He is a dead man, and a dead man's word holds no meaning but the mouse hears them, takes them and wraps them around itself as a shield to heal behind.

Only the poison is lingering. It's clasp deep and in the very cells of it's being.

This mouse had many snakes, many poisons that held fast and could not be cleansed, not by a dead man but if the shield will hold, he loses nothing by giving it.

Only the mouse is not a mouse, he's still a rat with visions of being a tiger to kill the snakes.

And the whispering in his ear of the voice of the man he will not name remains. Coaxes and pests.

These wolves believe that they hide in sheep's wool. They're still a pack, ruthless and efficient.

"Mr Brady this board grants you parole on the grounds of your continued and sustained good behaviour."

Dead men don't make trouble, they know their actions have no meaning.

"You will be released."

Dead men don't get out of their coffins and walk back with the living.

The noise splits his ears, wonderful sound of one of the living, the one he died for. She cries on his neck, the tears on his skin form a river bed.

He doesn't ask about the man his heart screams for, beating again on the tarmac, sunlight no longer blinding, warm and comforting.

Dead men don't feel warmth, he's not dead, he no longer needs to be.

He needs to get used to the living, to being alive.

"He still lives in Hollyoaks, he's still in the flat."

For some he has to remain dead as long as they have everything they should have.

He can't quieten his heart, can't stop it calling, fiercer, stronger than ever.

Just a glimpse. A single glance will soothe.

He treads as a dead man, keeps himself out of sight. The living can't see the dead, not if they have to remain that way.

He is Technicolor, vibrant, beautiful, captivating, the kind of treasure he has killed to protect.

"Oi, never said nought about that." His smile still lights a darkened room.

The urge to become alive again, truly alive, has him twitching, aching to move out of the shadow, but he has healed, the living have healed and need no more wounds.

He takes the vision of him, the splendour of him with him as he forces himself to move away, retreat.

He is alive and he has needs, wants that surge through him. He has no means to meet them. The cost of the living of having life after death has him seeking out change, a means to provide, only he was a convicted murderer and there are taints that go along with that and the change is too radical, too alien so he goes to the tigers and he becomes one because he can, he was one before.

The splendour doesn't dull. The call of his heart, the ache to be truly alive doesn't wane.

He wants to be alive, he craves it. A parched man in desperate need.

The door grips his knuckles. The key he has weighs in his pocket. He could walk straight in but he doesn't deserve to pass the threshold without invitation.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for…" His name, the one that he wouldn't think of but couldn't get out of his mind, that he hadn't spoken for years. "Steven."

"Who are you?"

Friend? Lover? Heartbreaker? Dead man resurrected.

"Brendan Brady."

"You're Brendan."

"That's what I said."

The twist in his face, the shock in his eyes. Seems he wasn't as dead to the living as he thought.

"He's… What do you want?"

"To see him."

"You think he wants to see you?" Venom in his tone. "You should go."

"I want to see him."

"He doesn't need you. What you did to him… He doesn't need someone like you anywhere near him."

"And you are?"

"I'm the man he's going to marry. I'm who makes him happy, I'm the one that picked up the pieces. You've got no idea, you broke him and it's taken years to put that right, you want to break him again? Go away Brendan, Ste doesn't need you fucking him over again."

The door slams shut and echo's around him.


End file.
